The Voice That Doesn’t Use Words…

Divine Cliffside

“There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen.” – Rumi.

After reading a few wonderfully lucid, elegantly thought-through and layered article pieces by a spirited journalist, Judy Bachrach, I did a little research on her and discovered she has written a book. It is exciting that she has written on one of the most irreconcilable topics of our day; a topic surrounded by taboo, by the terror of the unknown, and on the very phenomenon that we all know will visit us inevitably: Death.

She has created this work like weaving a great story, yet she approaches it with such a soberness, allowing all the facts to unravel, allowing the contradictions to push and pull at each other, perhaps especially on herself – who previous to taking up this research had no opinion on life after death whatsoever. If any, it was that death was just that, death, and you cease to exist. Even though she has had no personal experience of near-death herself, the flavour of her will to examine the evidence and find them uncannily provoking lights up like fire on the page. Highly Recommended Reading!

The engrossing narrative not only shares some incredible accounts of NDEs, but also invokes us into the author’s own transformation simply by being unable to deny the evidence – because her searching was honest. I found myself having profound respect for someone like her who had the self-integrity to say, “I haven’t experienced anything like this myself. I can’t even say I relate, because I have no foundation to relate these experiences back to myself; but even in terms of simply looking at the evidence and the portrayals, something is definetely going on here, and it deserves much more research!” That is the timbre, the correct attitude, for any real science that has ever shaken the world. A stance that refuses to turn science into the modern day religion of unquestioned faith upon one’s priests professing materialism as the ultimate truth.

The book, “Glimpsing Heaven: The Stories and Science of Life After Death”… begins with the powerful account of a patient who was monitored to be braindead at the time, clinically dead, their ears and eyes taped tightly shut during an operation, etc… and the patient upon revival could recount EVERYTHING that was happening to her as if she was seeing it perched on the shoulder of the Doctor conducting the operation.

All of this shows there is more to ‘mind’ than just what’s in our own head, more to consciousness than merely our own psyche – and helps us understand the nature of intuitive insight.

This remarkable passage recounts a very important understanding that Jayne Smith explains, a discovery that is common among near death experiencers:

In death, according to those who have been there, there is no speech, but there are interconnecting thoughts, predictions, flashbacks, questions, and occasionally answers. Jayne got a number of these.

“The man who did all the communicating with me was the tallest of the three,” she recalls. Jayne found everything about this figure “perfect.” It never occured to her to wonder if he was God or Jesus or Saint Peter: He had a long face, his features beautifully alligned, his manner wise and authoritative, and she just sensed he was some kind of spiritual authority.

“Anything he said, I could believe,” is how she puts it.
I know what happened to me, I know I have died, Jayne communicated.
The tall man nodded: That is right, yes. But you won’t be staying here. It’s not time for you to be here yet.

What was interesting, she stresses these days, is she didn’t stand there on the hill actually transmitting every syllable or sentence in order to recieve an answer from the tall man. All Jayne needed, she explains, was “to have the impulse to say whatever I wanted to say, however many sentences there might be.” Then that impulse would somehow travel to the tall man in the toga.

This form of speechless communication is very common among death travellers – it is in fact a thread more common than, say, entering a tunnel or seeing a light or floating above one’s own body. As the Dutch cardiologist Pim van Lommel explains, his findings indicate that “a third recieve information, but not by the body… They don’t hear, but they know the thoughts of people.”

This silent communication worked both ways, says Jayne: If the tall man in the toga needed to transmit an answer to her questions, “the impulse came back to me and I immediately knew what he meant to convey.”

Everything since I came over to this side – everything – has been beautiful with perfect love. But what about my sins?

The tall man responded: There are no sins, not the way you think of them on Earth. The only thing that matters here is what you think. What is in your heart?

Jayne looked into her heart. She cannot explain to this day how she quite managed this feat, but she says that’s exactly what happened. She gazed straight into it. Inside that heart she was, as she saw in inspection, “perfect love. Perfection.” Later she would figure out that’s what everyone is: perfect, endowed with love. That this is what the Bible meant when it said we are all created in God’s image, she decided. She had never understood that passage before. But all that extrapolation came later.

Standing in the presence of the men in togas, another thought came to her: “I suddenly knew how God sees the world. I understand. We have this core of God-ness, and it can get covered over by brutal experiences. But everything is beautiful, and I love it all.”

Of course, of course. I used to know that – how did I ever forget something as important as that? Since I’m not going to be able tos tay, I want to take all of this back. Can you tell me what everything is about? The meaning of the world? The Universe? Us?

And the tall man with the beautiful features gave her all the answers in just a few sentences, Jayne says, adding only: You can take back to others everything that’s happened except the answers to your last questions. You aren’t going to be able to remember those answers.

That’s when everything went black. Jayne heard a click, exactly as though a tape recorder had switched off.

“If I’d been allowed to stay, I would have asked a hundred questions,” she says. “But it was over.”

When she opened her eyes, she was once again in her hospital bed, her doctor was pounding hard on her chest, and it hurt so badly that Jayne somehow managed a weak protest: “I don’t mean to be rude, but would you please stop that?”

That was when the doctor shot her a smile of relief and stopped performing the external heart massage.

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~ by revolutionwithin on May 5, 2015.

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